


I Might Need You

by Anonymous



Series: Divide et Impera: Divide and Rule [1]
Category: Altered Carbon (TV)
Genre: AI/Human Relationships, Ride or Die buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:55:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23780401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The first time he came back to theNevermore, boots crunching with the broken glass caught in his tread, he almost didn’t recognize her. Wearing some hideous approximation of ancient 19th century Earth garb, she looked like a relic stolen from a museum… or a weird ass fetish house.OR:How Prime and Annabelle start to move forward.
Series: Divide et Impera: Divide and Rule [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713157
Kudos: 14
Collections: Anonymous





	I Might Need You

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this in a series of one-shots instead of as a cohesive story. Enjoy.

The first time he came back to the _Nevermore_ , boots crunching with the broken glass caught in his tread, he almost didn’t recognize her. Wearing some hideous approximation of ancient 19th century Earth garb, she looked like a relic stolen from a museum… or a weird ass fetish house.

“You rang?” He drawled, ignoring the way her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his voice, the way she kept her body angled away from him, the way she couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“Yes,” she sniffed, raising her nose, desperately trying to rally.

_‘You’re not used to it, are you?’_

“We have a problem that unfortunately requires a human touch to fix.” She swiped her hand, still without looking him in the eye, projecting the image of a stack and raw active data.

“DHF?” Prime asked – more a statement of the obvious than a question actually. The question was, “Who?”

The AI had barely opened her mouth to answer when it clicked in his head.

His focus had been on his other self, and restraining the caged tiger that was Quellcrist Falconer trapped between two versions of the man she loved (He had to hand it to himself; Takeshi had it right when he’d used Prime to stop her. Quell could mow through anybody – himself included – with a precision and speed that left him breathless (and more than a little aroused). She was also more than willing to use that ruthless, elegant brutality against any enemy – save one. She’d flailed in his arms because the only other option she had if she wanted to save his other self in time was killing him, and she couldn’t do it.), but he’d still noticed Poe, with some other AI behind him, writing on a little yellow sticky pad, like the plethora of others he’d seen the first time he’d been in the _Nevermore_ , before said AI disappeared.

“Kovacs.” He answered himself. “Poe backed him up.” Prime strode forward, intent on the data stream, still pretending he didn’t see all the many bodily signals the AI was projecting, pretending he didn’t see her stiffen and jerk a half step back at his unexpected advance.

“Why didn’t _he_ call me?” Prime demanded, finding it odd that the eccentric, not to mention overprotective AI - he still remembered the shotgun held to his head for harming ‘Miss Dig’ thank you very much - had passed the job off.

He had to suppress an internal wince as soon as the words were out. He had to be an asshole, didn’t he? It wasn’t like she was already terrified of him or anything; he’d only violated her mind, stripped her of her autonomy, rendered her powerless, and forced her to betray everything she was trying to protect. No big deal. That shit was easily to get over.

And pansies and sunshine would sprout from his ass with song and rainbow butterflies.

_‘Dealing with consequences._ ’

“Poe was forced to reboot immediately following the backup and encryption. His memory has been slower to return than expected.” She took a deep breath. “Mr. Kovacs was the one who suggested contacting you.”

He whirled on her. “You spun him up?”

Recoiling, she stammered, “In virtual. We don’t have a viable stack or sleeve to decant him in, nor do we have a viable method of obtaining either. That’s why we need you.”

“You’re sure the data is uncorrupted? I was there when Poe had to have backed him up, and the Elder was in his stack too. Just like with Quell and Jaeger.”

Her eyes widened at the information, but her nod was firm. “I’m certain. When we spun him up in virtual, there was no other presence detected in the construct, and I would have known if there was. I’m the one who separated the Elder from Quell. His data is clean and uncorrupted.”

Prime breathed out a sigh of relief, but nonetheless offered a mild, “Still, it couldn’t hurt to double check there are no hitchhikers hiding in there.”

Either she took his advice or decided on her own to comb the data, either way the stream of information was suddenly scrolling, lines of code highlighting with each strand she checked. Realizing this would take a minute; Prime ambled over to the bar and took a seat. Might as well get a drink.

She disintegrated, the nanite swarm reforming her visage behind the counter. “Uncorrupted.” Came the verdict.

He hummed noncommittally. “Don’t suppose I could get a drink? Whiskey?”

She poured him a gin.

He snorted. “A dig, Miss Dig?”

She squared her shoulders, lips pursing in displeasure. “It’s Annabelle now. My purpose has changed and so too has my moniker.

“Are you going to help us or not?” 

“It’s not that easy,” He slugged back his double gin with a mild grimace. She hadn’t even given him decent gin. This was bottom shelf, may as well have been made in a toilet, gin. Eh, at least the alcohol in it worked. Better than nothing.

“Why not? You managed to hide Miss Falconer from the Protectorate, needlecast her off world, and have her body retrieved and safely hidden in cryo. Why can’t you find an empty sleeve for Mr. Kovacs?”

Prime sighed and signaled for a refill. He was too sober to argue with an AI off mission. She obliged, temper adding steel to her spine, making her act less afraid. He suppressed a smile and knocked back his second round.

If there was one thing he knew he was good at, it was riling up females… even artificial ones, apparently.

“Because then there was too much chaos. The interim government hadn’t even formed when I organized all that. I was having my first official meeting with the interim governor about my assignment here and everything that happened in that cast station when _she_ was preparing to leave. They hadn’t had time to set up surveillance on me yet. Now?” He scoffed. “They watch me like a hawk.”

“Were you tracked coming here?” Annabelle exclaimed, clearly alarmed.

“No,” he sneered. “I make a semi regular habit of dropping off the radar near the red light district, and I always plant false trails in. They think I’m getting laid.” He signaled for another round.

“So you won’t help.” She exhaled shakily, again refusing to meet his gaze, the fight seemingly drained from her, fear setting back in.

“I didn’t say that.” He double-tapped the bar. “I _said_ it’s not that easy. It’ll take time. And I don’t know how much. Especially if we want this to vaguely resemble something legal. Which he’ll need if he’s planning to follow Quell around the Settled Worlds. Sleeves aren’t endless and jacking is punishable by real death. As is double-sleeving actually; but hey, no need to make it worse if we don’t have to.”

Tentatively sliding closer, and finally obliging him in round three, she asked. “Why are they watching you so closely?” 

He laughed without humor. “Because they know what Takeshi Kovacs is capable of, and they don’t want me slipping the leash,” He downed his glass and stood, he’d been here too long already. “Like he did.” Prime finished his thought; nodding his head toward the projected data that was his other self’s DHF.

Poor thing looked confused.

“But you already have… Miss Falconer said you were working with her now…”

“I am. I’m the one behind enemy lines, the one who can feed her up-to-date information from inside the Protectorate itself. You know, Most Likely to Die on the Job. But I can’t do _that_ , if I get caught doing shit like _this_.”

He stalked across the foyer, pausing at the door. “I’ll be in touch… Annabelle.”

* * *

The second time Prime decided to announce his arrival. Sheltered under an awning from the freezing mix of snow and rain that was the coldest it ever got in Millsport – Harlen’s World’s dubious capitol - the mix of damp dirty bodies and food from various venders less offensive in the cold. He’d managed to throw his surveillance but needed to hurry. He didn’t have much time before his shift started and the necessary haste meant he’d been less careful planting his false trail than he usually was. The longer this took the more likely it was he’d be caught.

Not much use to anyone then. Quell least of all.

Shaking off the thought he activated his ONI. “Annabelle.”

“Yes, Mr. Kovacs?”

He winced, “Just call me Prime. That’s what my DHF copy was labeled as.” Well… technically it was labeled _Kovacs Prime_ under the Evergreen Project but he needed a way to distinguish himself from… himself.

Whatever.

“Very well,” came her even voice, tone as cautious as ever.

“I’ve found a way, but I need you to access the array and forge a few files. Identity included.” He fiddled with the control bracelet, sending her a list of the files necessary and suggestions on background for his new identity. “Have _him_ look that over and make sure its his purposes. I’m on my way.”

She signed off without another word.

Prime sighed and leaned his head back, looking at the gray sky. He still wasn’t used to it. Dealing with consequences. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be used to it.

Not that it really mattered.

When he arrived at the _Nevermore_ , Annabelle and Poe were busy building and backdating the files he’d suggested.

“There’s a line at the bank, but with those in place Poe should be able to get him on the list. I’ve got a suggestion for the decanting station that’s least likely to draw unwanted attention, too.” He said by way of greeting.

They hardly acknowledged him beyond a passing glance and Poe’s cool, “Is there a particular reason why you came? We can handle this remotely ourselves.”

Yup, definitely frosty in here. It seemed Poe remembered not liking him now.

Oh what joy.

“Yeah, _you_ can’t plant those in the Protectorate Citizens Database. Too many firewalls. I can.”

“That seems an awful risk. Is it truly necessary?” Annabelle asked.

“Indeed, I can’t recall Mr. Kovacs having such troubles before, in our many adventures across the Settled Worlds.” Poe added suspiciously.

“If he ever wants to cast off this dump, then yes it’s necessary.” Prime decided to answer Annabelle’s legitimate inquiry and ignore Poe. “With all the civil unrest and continuing attempts by some of the old guard to steal power from the new guard, the governor has implemented strict travel restrictions. Matching files from the PCD must corroborate all local citizenship data before a cast is approved.

“Stacks have serial numbers which are recorded with an associated DHF when they’re first implanted. The numbers and names are then updated with each subsequent cast and resleeve.

“We’re starting from scratch here. Building a new identity from the ground up. This will clear his record, give him the most freedom of movement, and prevent us both from being arrested for double-sleeving. It’s the only viable option we have. But hey, if you don’t like it, he can just rot in virtual for all I care.”

They were definitely offended now. Prime marveled at the ability of digital consciousnesses to still manage to have invisible sticks up their nanite asses.

“No no. We’re almost done, and then we’ll give you a copy and you can be on your way.”

It was so nice. Having caring friends at a time like this.

Prime rolled his eyes.

* * *

The third time he came without warning. He’d had a lucky break in timing and wanted to talk to… himself… before leaving again.

He’d finalized the documents and it was time to plant the DHF itself in the trust account reserved for it.

Takeshi’s new identify was that of a miner turned bounty hunter who’d managed to stash enough funds in said trust account alongside a single backup and a living will dedicated to coming back to life. He had just enough money to request a healthy sleeve between the ages of twenty-five to forty, and would likely be on the list for six months – if he was lucky.

And lets face it, when was any version of him _ever_ lucky?

But the identity was clean, no obvious ties to any version of Takeshi Kovacs. And with Prime himself set to ship out within three months, the coast was clear for them both.

Annabelle materialized behind the bar just after he’d pushed inside the lobby.

“Mr. Prime,”

He spoke over her. “Geeze, just call me Prime, will ya? None of that ‘mister’ shit.”

“To what do we owe the unexpected pleasure?” She spoke the last word with obvious derision.

“Poe’s up - but I need to speak with ‘Mr. Kovacs’ first, if you please.” He drawled sardonically.

“Oh.” She seemed genuinely surprised. “Of course.” Annabelle quickly fetched the leads to connect him to the construct.

Sinking into a garish, overstuffed red chair, he allowed her to place the leads without protest; her pinched face the last thing he saw before slipping into virtual.

* * *

The next time he came it was to say goodbye. He wasn’t even sure why he bothered. They’d be pleased to see the back of him. And whatever it was he was looking for – absolution, forgiveness, some shred of something vaguely positive – he wouldn’t get it here.

At the _Nevermore_ all things good were reserved for his other self. Last Envoy, freedom fighter, and lover of Quell.

Not an orphaned CTAC officer whose company had only ever been desired by his pseudo father figure/superior officer – and even then, it was _still_ Takeshi that the man had wanted. The one who had spurned him and become his own man in the process. He was the one Jaeger respected. Not the little lapdog that had been so obedient for so long.

Shaking his head to dislodge the maudlin thoughts he pushed open the door to the _Nevermore_ for the last time, something that might be nostalgia curling like smoke in his lungs.

As usual, the nanoswarm formed into Annabelle’s familiar visage when he crossed the threshold.

“Prime.” She greeted, hands clasped demurely in front of her, still in that ridiculous dress.

“Annabelle. Just here to let you know that I’m shipping out day after tomorrow. You, Poe and Tak are on your own. I wont be able to help anymore.”

Message delivered he turned to leave so he could berate himself for unrealistic expectations in peace.

“Wait.” She reached as though to touch him, then aborted the motion when he complied.

“What?” He really needed out of here.

“I’m… I’m supposed to go with you.”

Prime was dumbfounded. His second “What?” less sharp than he’d have preferred.

Clearly feeling insecure, Annabelle shifted, struggled to meet his gaze. “Miss Falconer hired me to accompany you when it came time for you to leave.”

He sized her up through narrow eyes. “Why?”

“Well, in part because the partnership between Mr. Kovacs and Poe has been so effectively. I can help you. I would also allow for more secure communication between yourself, Miss Falconer, and Mr. Kovacs. Not to mention-“

“That’s not what I meant. I know how useful a dedicated AI can be, believe me when I say I am aware of how much you could help me. I don’t need you to break that down for me. But I do need to know _why_ you would do it.”

“Sir?”

“I hurt you. You’re afraid I’ll do it again. So why help me? What do you get out of this that is worth what it could potentially cost you?” He stalked toward her.

“I – I…”

“You what?”

She drew into herself, shoulders hunching, eyes dropping to the floor. Submissive.

He hated it. He missed her defiant fire.

“I can’t go back!” She cried. “I _need_ a purpose. I can’t go back to existing without one. Mr. Kovacs doesn’t need me, he had Poe, and Miss Falconer preferred to work alone, but she thought… thought that you might need me.”

_As much as I might need you._ Went unsaid, but not unheard.

She didn’t want to be alone.

In truth – even though he’d rather gnaw his own arm off than admit it aloud – he didn’t want to be alone either.


End file.
